She didn't know who he was, or what he wanted. All she knew was that he had grabbed her from the parking lot of the bar last night, blindfolded her, and thrown her in the back of her car. Now she sat in the corner of a small room, her arms tied to the wall with leather restraints, her legs held apart in the same fashion. She was afraid, though not entirely uncomfortable.
She had struggled as he brought her into the house, a house she did not recognize, far from any other homes in the area. She had seen his face, but she didn't recognize it either. She had fought as much as she could, but she was d***k, and tired, and he was much stronger than her. He had brought her to this room, she wasn't sure where in the house, but it certainly felt like a basement, bare and dim, though not unpleasant. It was a warm, and she was continually shaking herself free of the feeling that she was not in any danger. She felt an odd sense of acceptance. Perhaps, because she had found herself in a similar place from time to time, but only ever in her mind. She had to remind herself "I've been k**napped by a stranger who stripped me nude and tied me to a wall." She was afraid, but that was not all she felt.
Because he had touched her. Only briefly, and not in an invasive way. He had touched her in very intimate places, and though at first she had writhed in protest, soon she was writhing with an altogether different emotion, though she didn't want to admit it.
When he had secured her to the wall, and she had shaken and strained for several minutes...when she had tired herself and begun to sweat slightly from the exertion and fear...he had knelt before her. He looked her up and down, a threatening prescence that nonetheless seemed...soft somehow. As he raised his hands, she recoiled, as much as was possible. But with nowhere to go, his hands found her soon enough.
They were warm, like the slightly musty air of the room. They were strong, and that sent a shiver of fear through her, imagining what he could do with those strong hands. Anything he wanted at this point, and she had no reason to believe his intentions were anything but noble.
His touch was not exactly gentle, but certainly not the harsh or painful touch she would have imagined from a man who k**napped her in a parking lot. He held her hips, a strong grip, and pulled her waist towards him, slightly. He did not look in her eyes. He stared up and down her body, slowly working his gaze down, past her breasts (nipples erect from the nervousness), down over he stomach, and down...between her legs.
She had shaved that night...had in fact been hoping to find some big strong, dumb ox to take her home and show her a good time, whom she could then abandon the next day without a thought. It was not always her way, but tonight, it had been. Her plans had gone awry, the bar being fool of college boys, who, it should be said, had their uses. But not tonight. Tonight she had wanted someone...someone a little...
His hands on her waist. She tensed, shuddered, terrified...and then...
His hands moved slowly down to her thighs...and slowly massaged them. She tried to bring them together, afraid of what he had in store for her...but she couldn't. She could only watch, eyes wide in fear and anticipation...as his hands rubbed up and down her thighs...slowly coming closer...and closer...to her...
"Please," she said, "don't hurt me. I'm...I'm..."
She wanted to say afraid...but that wasn't quite right.
He still did not look at her. His hands were now resting at the very top of her inner thighs. His thumbs stroked up and down the soft flesh where her thighs met her...
"What..." she said, barely audibly..."what are you going to do to me?"
He turned to her, looked in her eyes. She could not break his stare.
Even as his wide thumbs began to massage up and down the soft, shaved flesh around her most intimate place.
She gasped, slightly, and pulled away from him just a little. She could barely move, or she would have pulled away further.
"Please..." she began to say. But a small breath caught in her throat. Almost a sigh. Almost a sound of...
Could she really be feeling...pleasure?
She could hardly believe it...but it was unmistakable...this feeling...the sense of anticipation and excitement. Her legs were now spread in an almost inviting manner. She felt herself beginning to grow we...
God, no, this man was crazy! He had a*****ed her! She was a prisoner in his basement for god only knew what purpose. God only knew what...
He massaged more firmly...
and she felt the flesh of her pussy grow moist as it was pulled slowly up and down with each stroke...
She wanted to scream, tell him to stop, at least part of her did.
But a small moan escaped her lips. Their eyes locked. A wave of confusion washed over her.
Confusion and desire.
"I...don't..." she stammered as he let his thumbs rest on either side of her clit. "I'm...are you?..."
He gently pushed his thumbs together, squeezing the flesh around her clit, her clit pinched gently in middle.
And in spite of herself, she moaned.
He didn't move his hands now. Her whole body tensed and shivered slightly as his fingers held her clit between them. He did not move, nor did she, but every shudder and shake sent a wave of pleasure through her clitoris. She felt it engorging as he held it. He did not move, but he held her gaze.
Her mind reeled. Who was this man? What did he want? And what did it say about her...that she way actually enjoying how this felt, if not the actual circumstances?
His hands moved slightly, perhaps involuntarily, and the feeling of her clit being pressed and pulled even that little bit caused her to close her eyes and sigh.
"What are you...." she stammered, drew in a sharp breath. "What are you doing to me?"
He looked away again. Now he let go of the flesh around her clit. Her body, still taught, nerves firing off in a thousand directions, relaxed slightly.
She tried to collect her mind, her thoughts racing and colliding. Now that the feeling of pleasure was subsiding she could think. She had to think, had to find a way out of this...
"Please..." she began...and again she stopped. Please...what? Please let me go? Please don't hurt me?
Please don't stop?
But this time she was cut off. His hands were on her again. Again he wasn't looking at her. He looked down at his hands, as if carefully planning how he would touch her. And the way he touched her stopped her cold.
He spread her lips apart, so her clit was exposed. The air against it made her shiver again. She truly wanted to protest now. Not because she didn't want him to touch it...but because she knew how good it would feel when he did.
"God," she thought, "I'm at his mercy and...it feels...it feels...
He placed one finger gently against her exposed clit. The feeling of it...
"Soooo gooooood...." she moaned, as he body started to grind involuntarily against the rough pad of his fingertip.
Still a part of her held back from him, a small part in her mind that knew how wrong all of this was. It kept itself in a small compartment in her mind. In that place it spoke to her, telling her things she increasingly did not want to hear.
"Your his hostage, he's a*****ed you, he's crazy, he's dangerous."
"He's got control of you."
Oh god, did he have control of her.
Posted by zomzolom 3 years ago Views: